How Do You Win the Indy 500? Will Power!

Indy is coming! Indy is coming! And I don’t mean another of those tedious Harrison Ford/Raiders of the Lost Ark sequels, though I’m sure one of those is coming as well. I’m talking about the Indianapolis 500—the jewel in the crown of the eponymous, sporty clothing-sponsored, IZOD/IndyCar Series—which will be taking place this coming Sunday, May 30, in the doubly eponymous (if you’re an Indian) Indianapolis, Indiana. Now, I don’t know shit-all about racing, but I do know a little something about Indianapolis, stemming both from my visit to that city during a recent business trip (the restaurant in which I ate dinner had its menu printed on a football), and from my New Orleans-based examination of its myriad “qualities” in the lead-up to the Superbowl. So when I was offered the choice between heading to the blazing Midwest over an otherwise peaceful Memorial Day Weekend to cover the race, or taking the subway four stops to watch the race come to me, it was not exactly a Sophie’s Choice dilemma.How does Speedy City come to The Big Apple? In a caravan. Or, at least that’s what I imagined when I received an invitation to schlep up to Herald Square to see it arrive. “To kick off the 500 festivities,” the invite read, “we are bringing all of the IZOD IndyCar drivers to New York, and I want you to ride shotgun with one of them at the wheel.” I pictured myself wearing Gucci aviators, pressed jeans, and a crisp white shirt as Racer X and I laid tracks across Midtown, windows open, Thin Lizzie blaring. Then, one of my sage auto-journo friends pointed out that Indy cars don’t have radios. Or windows. Or passenger seats. I was confused. But a more careful reading of the message revealed that the whole rubber-burning experience would be taking place in a fleet of specially designed Honda Crosstour Hatchbacks. Not as hot. But still. “I’m definitely interested,” I wrote back. “Please make sure to pair me up with a very handsome driver.”

That particular request wasn’t difficult to meet. A quick Google Image search for “IndyCar Driver” revealed at least a couple dozen hunks (and a few hot ladies) in the circuit, cueing two genius business ideas: 1) A pair of IndyCar Hunk calendars, and 2) One IndyCar Hunk calendar, with each photo spread featuring a pair of drivers. (Do you think the name “Pole Position” has already been used for something like this?) The request that was difficult to meet was the whole closing off of the island of Manhattan to vehicular and pedestrian traffic so I could go the wrong way up Seventh Avenue at 200 miles per hour while engaged in Vanishing Point fantasies. Instead, the folks from IZOD/Indy gathered their 33 identically liveried Hondas, lined them up in the order in which the actual racecars will appear at the starting gate, and assigned us journalists to hop inside and talk to the drivers. Since Stick Shift is the second most important automotive blog in America, I was granted the No. 2 slot. This meant sharing a Crosstour with the Australian (Nietzschean?) miracle that is Will Power. (Yes, that is his real name. And yes, we will be using it in the calendar.)

Why No. 2? Something about trial times. But with his winning smile and rugged features, Power is No. 1 in my book. And in IZOD’s book, apparently, whose accounting shows that he has earned the highest number of points in the five IndyCar races run so far this year (he won two of them).

As part of what I consider a valiant effort to overcome the farcical awkwardness of our interview location, I decide to pepper Will with inane questions from the moment I step into the car, asking first how he feels about his prospects for taking the checkered flag this weekend. “I’m feeling good,” he asserts, his expression only slightly pursed. “I’m in a good place. But, you know, you’ve got to do everything you can, and do it exactly right. Then, that other little piece has to go your way as well.” I wonder what that “little piece” might be: prayer, voodoo, Mephistophelean bargain, bizarre pre-race rituals? He shakes his head. “I don’t have any rituals anymore.” But then he grins. “Except, I do get in the same side of the car every time. Also, I don’t shave on race day.”

I imagine not shaving would leave a racer feeling all itchy and prickly, chafing for hours inside that tight, fireproof, Nomex suit, but then Will rubs his face and I realize we’re talking at cross purposes. This misapprehension leads me to a more relevant question: exactly what goes through the mind of a 29-year-old Toowoomban racecar driver when he is careening around a two-and-a-half-mile oval track, 200 times in a row, at 230 miles per hour? According to Will, it’s very simple: “Man, I hope this car sticks.” He pretends to grip tightly to a very small diameter steering wheel and pulls his mouth wide to emulate a g-force-induced grimace. “At that speed, you cannot make a mistake.”

As it turns out, Power knows all about the perils of error. At last year’s event in Sonoma, he tells me, a miscalculation made by another driver caused him to get into a bad wreck, leaving him with a serious concussion, a fracture in his foot, and two broken vertebrae. He was in recovery for six months, and doctors were unsure if he’d race again. “But I’ve come back,” he says. “With a bam!”

It began to get stuffy in the Crosstour, and I started hoping someone would shout, “Snowball,” and I'd be encouraged to exit my car and hop to the back row to interview some of the other, more brightly-costumed drivers in the rear of the pack. (Will, like the other two front-runners, wears an elegant, basic black.) But there were apparently autographs to sign, hands to shake, swag to toss, lunch to eat, and jets to board before sleep came down in Indianapolis for these brave racers. Still, based on my limited research, I’m going to make an educated prediction: Will Power will win the Indianapolis 500 this year. Place your bets. Start your engines. And for the love of God, drive carefully!